


Awkward Situations Tell Us More

by Bluejay141519



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Christmas Cards, Getting Together, M/M, Shenanigans, Stupid Boys, Winter, Z is concerned, bergy is confused, brad is not doing smart things, but he means well at least, prompt, round three hundred and fifty seven here we go, segs is mentioned, story of his life tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: “Hey congrats man.”Patrice blinks at Pasta. “Uh- Thanks? But for what?”David just laughs. “I mean I figured it’d been going on for a while, but damn Bergy, how’d he talk you into coming out with a Christmas card?”





	Awkward Situations Tell Us More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



> All mistakes are my own, sorry this is rushed a bit.

The door to Patrice’s apartment nearly loses its hinges as Brad bursts his way through it, waving something in his hand and carry a backpack. “You’re helping me!” He yells from the kitchen.

 

Patrice just sighs from where he sits on the couch. On his TV screen he watches as a Mike evades the cops in the very first episode of Suits. “Hey Brad, come on in. How are you doing? Oh that’s good. I’m pretty great by the way, thanks for asking. No I’m not exhausted, why would you say that? Sure make yourself at him.” He says dryly, and rolls his shoulders back.

 

Marchy waltzes into the living room and drops himself onto the couch. He shoves a plate into Patrice’s lap and puts two glasses of water on the small coffee table. “Here, you should eat.”

 

“How do you know I haven’t already?” Bergy mumbles, even as he starts attempting to pick up the hastily made sandwich.

 

“Because it’s our off day and since you haven’t showered or shaved or gotten dressed yet despite it being three in the afternoon, so you probably didn’t eat breakfast until like ten. And you weren’t planning on eating again until like six.”

 

And, well- that’s fair, he supposes. (It’s not that he wasn’t planning on it, it’s just it’s off day, and he was so happy to stay on the couch in his pajamas and watch Suits from the beginning while napping intermittently. And the kitchen is far away and he was comfortable. Sue him.)

 

“Wat’ev’r.” He mumbles around a mouthful, watching as Brad pulls a laptop out of his bad and starts fiddling with the thing. “What are we doing? Did something happen?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s been kept out of the loop of some major development in hockey. A lot can happen in a few hours. He eyes his phone warily, but the device remains unaffected where it sits on the side table.

 

Marchy just waves his hand. He takes another bite of his sandwich and leans forward to watch the screen over Brads shoulder. He makes a surprised noise when his liney pulls up some website for pictures. Or something. Cards?

 

“What are we-”

 

“Me and you.” Brad smiles at him, that wide cheeky one that has Patrice eyeing him suspiciously.

 

“Me and you.” He repeats skeptically, then feels his eyes widen when Brad clicks the mouse a few times and pulls up a new page. “Absolutely not.” He shakes his head vehemently. “No chance.”

 

Marchy pouts. “Oh come on Bergy!!! This is perfect! You hate doing Christmas cards, I hate doing christmas cards, both our moms will murder us if we don’t send them out. This is the best solution. Me and you sit our asses down and knock out one universal christmas card, order some chinese food, and then we’re done.”

 

Patrice opens his mouth to protest and then closes it again.

 

It’s not...the worst argument. Plus he’ll get to spend the day with Brad, which is much better than being alone. Or being with most other people. Really Brad is like...his favorite person at the moment.

 

Who is he kidding. Brad’s been his favorite person to hang out with for years now. It’s kinda how the best friends thing goes.

 

“God damn it.” He mutters, and Marchy _lights up._

 

“Awesome!” He drops the laptop down and vaults over the back of the couch and runs to Patrice’s junk room. “Where do you keep all your pictures?”

 

Bergy just stares down at his half eaten sandwich and tries to ignore how hard he’s smiling.

 

……

 

*****

 

His mom texts him in December, and he calls her back despite the fact that he’s about to get on a plane.

 

“Hey Mom.”

 

“ _Patrice! I’m so proud of you honey!”_ He feels himself smile wryly at himself, and switches to french to answer.

 

“So you got the card?”

 

_“Of course! I knew it would only take a few dozen years of threatening to castrate you before you’d get it through your head.”_

 

He sighs. The bus is slowing to a stop. “Only a dozen. But um...what did you mean? In your text.”

 

His mom huffs impatiently like she does when she thinks Patrice should understand something he doesn’t. “ _I thought it was pretty clear, Patrice. Make sure we get to see Brad this year! I’ve missed that boy.”_

 

“Mom you’ve met him once, and for like five minutes-”

 

“ _Four times, actually.”_

 

Patrice sits forward in his seat. “Have you been counting?!” He cries, then looks around quickly. Luckily the guys are just standing and grabbing their shit, not paying attention to him. “I’ve got to go. I’ll ask him alright? But don’t get your hopes up. He’s probably gonna spend the holidays with his family.”

 

His mom just laughs, which, _what does that mean mom_ , but he really does have to go, so they exchange ‘i love you’s and he hangs up.

 

Brad siddles up to him as they walk to the plane and nods to his phone, which Patrice is still staring at with a confused expression. “What was that about?” He asks.

 

“Nothing. Just my mom.”

 

Marchy’s brow furrows, worry flashing across his face. Patrice pretends to not notice his heart thumping happily at the concern. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah.” He assures, way to quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

 

\---------

 

Everything is not fine.

 

It’s very, very not fine. The problem is that he doesn’t know, exactly, why it is not fine. He doesn’t even know what it is, really, just that people are acting really weird.

 

Example: he’s on a short roadie, which, cool whatever hockey. But in the two days they’re gone, he’s gotten a text from almost everyone in his family and several of his friends, all of which tell him they’re happy for him, or that they can’t wait to see him, or some variation of support. This includes a weird snapchat from Seggy, which - okay, he can’t decipher Tyler’s snaps on a good day, but this one is particularly confusing. Something about...losing a bet? Who knows, there was a lot of yelling and loud music in the background.

 

Whatever. Apparently Jamie is mad at him. Or something.

 

He doesn’t text anyone back anything other than some ‘thank you’s and a few ‘yeah you too’s and a question mark to Segs. He doesn’t ask anyone “what the fuck are you talking about”, because honestly what does that say about him? Clearly it’s not a bad thing, he just doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

 

It’s disconcerting. Worrying too. But not as worrying as how Brad suddenly just ditches him the entire trip. He knows it’s only two days, but still, they usually hang out at night on roadies.

 

He gets no text on his phone and no knock on his door and no apology or explanation the next day.

 

“What the fuck is going on.” He groans as he drops down into his seat next to Rask after a shootout win against the ducks. A game that involved nearly zero talk between him and Marchy.

 

Tuukks just keeps looking at his phone, but chimes in with an emotionless “Mood.”

 

“Why am I friends with you?” He groans. Tuukka just shrugs.

 

“Your choice man.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

\----------------

 

“Hey Patrice can I talk to you for a sec?”

 

He lifts his head up, and then tilts it back some more. Sitting on the floor stretching out and looking up at Chara is a...long distance to look. The soft spoken captain actually looks _worried_.

 

Oh wonderful.

 

“Yeah, sure Z.” He mumbles, and folds his legs under him. He takes Chara’s offered hand and pulls himself up. Together they walk into the back hall that’s behind the gym. None of the guys are there. It’s quiet.

 

He swallows thickly and takes a deep breath.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks quietly, staring at the floor until he realizes that this is Z, for crying out loud. Not only does he demand respect as a captain, but he also helped give Patrice the A. He should be able to look him in the eyes, so he tries his best to bring his gaze upward.

 

Chara isn’t angry though, he’s...concerned? Or- something else. He almost looks sad.

 

“No, of course not.” Z’s quiet voice used to unnerve him, except it’s almost always the same level of calm, so he got used to it. Now though, he’s talking like he’s afraid of spooking Patrice. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

 

He blinks. “What?”

 

His captains eyes dart to the ground for a second and it clicks.

 

Nervous. Chara is _nervous_.

 

_What the hell._

 

“If I ever made you feel like it was wrong, or if anyone on the team ever did, I apologize.” He smiles, and it’s hesitant. “I am happy for you though. It’s great to see you happy, you know.”

 

“I- um, I’m sorry, did you- are we- what’s-” A door opening behind them cuts off his stammering and has Patrice nearly jumping out of his skin. It’s just one of the staff, but Chara backs up and smiles again, not really strained this time, but still hesitant.

 

“We can talk more later.” He says, and then disappears around the corner.

 

Patrice stares after him. Now alone in the hallway, he pushes both hands through his hair.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” He whisper yells. The hall just echoes his voice back at him, cold and empty and answerless.

 

…..

 

The final straw is after the game. They got home from the roadie last last night, and then had to play again, and now it’s almost eleven. They worked hard but lost to the bolts anyway, and the locker room is subdued. Disappointed and tired, there isn’t much normal activity going around, and after media it doesn’t really get any better. Coach talks to them and dismisses them to get some rest, and that’s when Pasta drops down into the stall next to him.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Bergy rolls his eyes. “What is it with everyone apologizing to me? What the fuck did you all do that was so bad?”

 

Pasta’s eyes widen and Patrice instantly feels bad.

 

“I was- the turnover in the third.” He clarifies, and Bergy closes his eyes and pinches his nose. He starts to apologize but David just waves him off and shoots him a sympathetic look.

 

“It wasn’t your fault anyway. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

 

“Yeah, but I wanted to. You look...stressed.”

 

“Gee thanks.” He mumbles, tugging at his socks.

 

“Hey congrats by the way.”

 

Patrice blinks at Pasta. Some slightly hysterical part of him wants to wail ‘ _please god not you too Pasta’._ Instead he grits his teeth and decides to ask, because if Pasta is fucking with him then he’s definitely gonna know. “Uh- Thanks? But for what?”

 

David just laughs. “I mean I figured it’d been going on for a while, but damn Bergy, how’d he talk you into coming out with a Christmas card?”

 

“He bribed me with Chinese.” His responds, relaxing for a few seconds. Pasta takes it in stride, nodding like that makes sense, and even gets all the way back to his own stall before it registers in Patrice’s brain what he actually said.

 

_‘...coming out with a Christmas card…’_

 

He stares at his hands, frozen.

 

Coming out.

 

The fucking christmas card. He and Brad- and what the fuck does that mean, ‘ _I figured it’d been going on for a while’_?!?!

 

He lifts his gaze to scan the locker room, searching out one particular face,and- yep. There’s Marchy, staring at him with wide eyes and a distraught expression. His team is moving around the locker room without a care, yelling at each other and throwing gear everywhere and arguing about the stupidest things. Normal locker room stuff.

 

Marchy bites his lip and drops his gaze suddenly, and that’s how Patrice realizes he’s still mostly in his hockey shit while Brad is tying the laces on his dress shoes, ready to go home.

 

“Oh.” He croaks. “Oh _fuck_.”

 

\--------

 

He gives exactly three fucks about how late at night it is, and all of them disappear when Marchand fails to answer his phone. All five times he calls him.

 

‘ _I’m standing outside your door, asshole. Open the fuck up before i wake up every single one of your neighbors.’_ He texts angrily. When nothing is given in return except for a _‘Read, 12:02 AM’_ underneath the text bubble, he doesn’t hesitate in repeatedly slamming his fist into the plain apartment door. There’s a loud crash from inside, and he keeps ‘knocking’ until there’s someone scrambling behind the door and suddenly Brad is there yanking the door open so fast that Patrice almost hits him in the face with his hand.

 

He doesn’t bother with whatever words they might’ve exchanged, he just barges right into the apartment keeping his shoes on because he’s too worked up to be polite. He hears the door shut behind him, and he runs a hand through his hair.

 

“What the hell Patrice?! You can’t just-”

 

“ _No!_ No you don’t get to yell at me for this.” He whirls around and he’s so, _so_ angry but he’s also _hurt_ . He’s covering for it, stretching the little bit of anger and betrayal he felt when he met Brad’s eyes in the locker room. “You _knew_ ! You knew what was going on and instead of growing a pair and _talking to me_ you avoided me for three fucking days!”

 

Marchy looks like he’s caught between pissed and guilty. “I didn’t want you to be angry okay?!”

 

“Too _fucking_ late!” Patrice yells back. “You realize that I had an entire conversation with my mom right? She thinks we’re together. My entire family has apparently always known I’ve been gay, Z thinks he failed as a captain because we didn’t tell him earlier, fucking- even Tuukka called me after the game, because he thought someone did something to make us want to stay hidden and he was about to murder. Jesus christ Marchand! I had to find out from _Pasta_ that _everyone_ thought we were together, and those fucking cards were use announcing it!”

 

He watches Brad’s eyes narrow and something else flashes across his face, to quick for Patrice to identify. “Is the thought of us together really that disgusting to you?”

 

“That’s not why I’m angry, what the fuck?”

 

Brad crosses his arms. “Seems like it is.”

 

“I’m _pissed_ because you knew, and you knew that I _didn’t_ but you _still said nothing_.” He snarls. His chest is heaving and his throat is raw and he hates this. He doesn’t even know why it hurts so much that Brad didn’t tell him. He can blame it on humiliation - which he does, continuing with “I look like an idiot now you realize that right? How am I supposed to tell everyone we aren’t together when I never denied it outright?”

 

-but it’s not the truth.

 

It does hurt getting kept in the dark. It stings even more that it’s Brad who let it happen, but what really punches him in the chest is knowing that they _aren’t_ together. That he’ll have to make those phone calls and have awkward conversations when he could be smiling with Brad by his side. The idea of them together doesn’t piss him off - it’s that fact that them together is only an _idea_ , not a reality. He has to deal with the repercussions of an idea, when he should be planning out the future.

 

Marchy opens his mouth, closes it, then growls “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier” out through his teeth. Bergy steps back, his anger suddenly spent. He sits on the arm of the couch and buries his hands in his hair, head bowed.

 

“God this is so fucked up.” He whispers, and forces himself to straighten. Looking at Brad he can see what he didn’t before - the exhaustion painted on his figure, the way he’s holding himself like he needs comfort that he can’t get, he pain in his eyes as he stares at Bergy.

 

And then a few things click.

 

“Marchy.” He says lowly, looking at the hardwood floor in front of his feet. “How long did you know?”

 

Marchands eyes instantly move from his face to the wall, then to the coffee table and then they settle on the windows. “I-”

 

“ _How_ _long_?”

 

He swallows. “Since- before we left. My mom must’ve gotten hers pretty fast I guess. But...I- I had looked at them before we ordered them, and I thought...well maybe.”

 

Patrice stands slowly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat so he can ignore the way they’re shaking. “You thought people might think we were together, and you sent them anyway?”

 

Brad looks like he’s about to cry now, but at least he’s looking at Patrice again. “Yeah.” He whispers. He takes a breath, even steps forward, half heartedly reaches out a hand for him. “I’m- I’m so sorry Patrice, I didn’t want to- I just- it was a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t really think it would explode like it did.”

 

Marchy is close enough now that there’s barely a few feet between them. If Patrice reaches forward he could touch his arm. “You live your life in spur of the moment decisions.” He murmurs. “Never thought I’d hear you apologize for one.”

 

“This one hurt you.” Brad says, painfully real. “You deserve an apology for that.”

 

Patrice shakes his head. “God you really don’t know do you?” Marchy only blinks up at him. “Everyone I talked to on the team dropped some sort of inclination like they knew we had been dating for a while. I think part of the reason I didn’t deny them is because...I wanted that. This hurt me because it _wasn’t true_ , Marchy. I was getting congratulation texts for something I hadn’t won. The idea of _us_ doesn’t disgust me, it makes me happy, but what hurt the most was knowing I’d never ever have you. I’d have to tell everyone the thing I wanted the most wasn’t real.”

 

He looks down at his shoes and shakes his head. “I don’t- I don’t know if that’s what you wanted, but I-”

 

He’s cut off by arms grabbing his arms and pushing him backwards into the wall, his back hitting it with a soft thump. A noise of protest might come from him, he’s not sure, because his brain short circuits shortly after that.

 

Brads lips crash against his and Patrice melts.

 

His lips are chapped and he tastes like that stupid mint gum he always chews after games and he’s _kissing him._

 

It’s sloppy at first, and the force of Brad kissing means their noses are squished together for a second, but Patrice gets with the program pretty quickly. He takes control of the kiss, one hand cupping Brads face to slow him down, the other in his hair to encourage him. He tilts his head down and Brads up, and his skin sings with feeling, nerve endings coming alive with excitement.

 

When they finally break apart it’s for necessity of air. Patrice has to stop Brad from rushing back in, even though it physically pains him to do so. “Wait.” He gasps, and Marchy makes a noise that sends a shiver down his back.

 

“Okay.” Brad whispers, and Patrice nods, “Okay-” and they’re kissing again, and again, and he actually has to tear his lips from Brad’s to get more air and try and clear his head.

 

“Wait- wait a second okay, just a second.” He laughs when Brad huffs in disappointment. “I assume we’re on the same page here right? Like- we’re trying this. Together?”

 

Marchy nods so fast his head nearly falls off. “Yeah. Yes. I mean- if you want, because I _definitely_ want.”

 

He laughs again and kisses him, short and sweet. “I think I got that.” He murmurs against his lips, hands rising to rest at Marchy’s side. “Have to thank you though.” He says through a grin.

 

Brad pulls back, surprised and says “What, why?” then rolls his eyes at himself.

 

Patrice rolls his eyes back. “Well, while you did put me in a lot of awkward situations, you also sorta just saved me from those situations, so…”

 

His excited laughter echoes in the apartment, fading quietly as they make their way to the bedroom. The door to the bedroom quietly, gently, clicks shut behind them.

 

 _ ~~Bonus~~ _:

 

Patrice calls his mom back two days later. He had to have a long conversation with Z and then with Coach and then with Z _and_ Coach, but he did it all with Marchy by his side. They’re good now. They’ve _been_ good, for such a long time now, and Patrice feels like he just never noticed until _now_.

 

As in, right now, with Marchy tucked into his side on the couch while some random cooking show plays. It’s snowing outside and the world hasn’t ended despite being out to his team about being in a same sex relationship in the least inclusive major professional sport. Christmas is in a week and he gets to call his mom to say that she was right.

  
“Yeah mom. Yeah I know. No, he called his family already. Well he wasn’t going anywhere originally- yeah we got the tickets. Yes. _Yes_ , jesus _christ_ , I- sorry.” He smiles down at the sleeping body next to him and has to surprise an honest to god giggle when Brad mumbles some nonsense about carrots and the Flyers. “He’s coming home with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> *okay i acknowledge that bergy and his mom would probably speak to each other in french but i aint got time for that so lets pretend theyre talking in said language
> 
> Thanks for reading!! I know it's after xmas by a lot but I love it


End file.
